The Naming

by Alison Croggon

  Too startled at first even to be afraid, Maerad stared at the bowman with wonder. He was tall and fair and long-limbed, dressed in motley green designed to conceal him among leaves.

  He stared back at Maerad and Cadvan, his face utterly expressionless. Only his eyes betrayed any feeling, and they were unwelcoming and cold.

  XVI

  LADY ARDINA

  CADVAN again told the bowman they traveled in peace, holding out his bare hands as he did so. Although he didn't lower his bow, the man seemed to regard them less coldly. They spoke for some time, and Maerad shifted uneasily in her saddle; she knew enough of the Speech to know they spoke that tongue, but she understood nothing of what was said. She heard Cadvan mention her name, and he turned to her with a gesture of his hand; she nodded then, and smiled with what she hoped was a guileless and open expression. Still the stranger did not lower his weapon, and at last, after more talking, Cadvan turned to her.

  "He says we have to go with him and he will brook no disobedience. He says he has friends close by, and that if we move in any direction save that he says, we will both die instantly with an arrow in our throats. I think we have no choice."

  "Who is he?" said Maerad. "Is he a Bard?"

  "No," said Cadvan. "And I have never heard of Bards in the Great Forest. But these are not evil people, and I think we will be safe enough, or at least I hope so."

  The bowman was impatiently indicating they should move forward, so they ceased speaking and moved in front of him. Immediately four other bowmen, as tall and graceful as the first, jumped down from the oak and joined him. They all had arrows to the string. Maerad and Cadvan were told to dismount; the bowmen seemed wary of the horses, and consulted privately before they ordered that they must lead them. Then they were marched away from the river, deep into the heart of the forest. Even if they had tried to escape, it would have been fruitless; soon they had lost their bearings entirely.

  The bowmen led them for hours, long into the night. Maerad looked up through the trees and saw there the stars shining bright and cold above them. How many times had she cast up her eyes to the stars for succor? she wondered to herself; for as long as she could remember she had found a comfort in their chilly beauty, so remote from human suffering. She was tired now and very hungry, and her legs felt numb; she moved by sheer will. At last, when she felt as if she really could not walk another mile even if an arrow was pointed at her breast, their captors led them through a thick ring of trees into a Bardhome.

  This one was bigger than any Maerad had seen: a grass arena of perhaps two hundred feet across, so the night sky looked down unimpeded at its center, and the crescent moon and stars let down their shadowless light over the grass. At the far end of the glade a stream fell silver and pearl in the moonlight down a small rockface. Here they were allowed to rest, and the horses were unsaddled to drink and graze. Behind the veil of the waterfall was a large cave. To Maerad's surprise, it concealed a large and comfortable chamber lit by flickering torches set into the rocky walls; there were even beds, made of branches thickly twined. Two of the bowmen then left on some urgent errand. The one who acted as the leader spoke to Cadvan, and Cadvan told Maerad that here they would eat and rest before pressing on again the following day.

  "Where are they taking us?" asked Maerad fearfully.

  "They won't say," said Cadvan. "But I for one am grateful for a bed and a hot meal." He walked to where the stream gathered in a small pool, before it flowed away through the Bardhome and out through the forest, and splashed water over his face. "Now perhaps I might stay awake long enough to eat!"

  In a little while they were given steaming herbed stew in bowls made of glazed clay. Maerad looked at the workmanship curiously; the bowls had a purity of line that caught her eye. She ate hungrily and then lay down on one of the beds and fell asleep almost instantly.

  The bowmen woke them early, and once again they began their weary tramp. Soon afterward Maerad realized they were following a path that wound through trees that seemed, she thought, even bigger than those they had seen over the past few days. Despite being on foot they went swiftly and covered perhaps twenty miles before they stopped at another Bardhome, very similar to the first. Cadvan and Maerad spoke very little during the day, although he chatted with the bowmen, who were called Farndar, Imunt, and Penar. Their conversation revealed very little. They would tell him neither their destination nor who they were beyond their names, and did not ask Cadvan of the reason for their journey, or where it began. Maerad didn't feel afraid so much as apprehensive; she wondered how they would ever get out of the forest, if these strange folk let them leave. They were less hostile, but it was clear that Cadvan and Maerad were their captives. How were they to get to Norloch now?

  At lunchtime the next day they reached a broad river that flowed swiftly in a rocky course, hurrying between high banks. "This might be the Cirion, which flows uncharted through the Great Forest," Cadvan said to Maerad. "It flows from the Osidh Elanor through Lirhan, and then vanishes into the forest, where it disappears from the maps. I begin to remember stories from my childhood of the wild people, the Deridhu, who live in the heart of the forest; they are supposed to come out and bring nightmares to children who do not do as they are told, and ride the cows so they come to the morning stare-eyed and milkless. Perhaps they are a hearthside memory of these folk. Many forgotten things live still in children's tales." Maerad glanced at the bowmen; they looked altogether too grim to take cows on wild rides.

  The path ran along the banks of the river for some time and then turned left. Here it was possible to cross; there was no bridge, but the banks were less steep and the water spread shallowly A small stream split off from the river and wandered lazily off through the trees. The crossing was not quite a ford, but Penar waded across and tied a rope to a tree on the other bank. Using this as a guide they crossed safely to its other side. They followed the smaller stream, noticing that the golden light grew steadily more intense and that the trees were even more broadly spaced, so at times it seemed they moved through meadows densely treed rather than a forest. They didn't stop for lunch, and the sun was just beginning its slow descent when they suddenly left the trees and found they overlooked a long green valley cleft into the very heart of the forest.

  Maerad gasped with astonishment. Before them stretched a city made wholly of wood. All the buildings were low, with high, curiously carved gables and doors that opened out to wide porches, and their shingled roofs gleamed bright silver in the sunlight. Around them were fair gardens and lawns, and blossoming trees—rowan, plum, almond, and apple—were everywhere thickly planted. They were just now coming into leaf and the blossom mostly fallen, and the ground was strewn with pink and white petals, as if it had snowed.

  The bowmen spoke to Cadvan, who had halted, his face bright with wonder.

  "They tell me this is the city of Rachida," Cadvan told Maerad. "I have heard of a place with that name: it was one of the havens of the Dhyllin and was thought destroyed many years ago. I think I begin to understand. But how could so fair a place go so long unmarked by the Bards of Annar?"

  He shook his head, as if he did not quite believe what he had said, and they walked on, following their escorts through the wide streets of the city. The bowmen had at last laid aside their arrows, and they walked freely, turning their heads from side to side to look at the buildings as they passed. They were fairly and strongly made, all with curious carvings around the doors and lintels and eaves. Maerad saw nowhere any glass; the houses had wide windows which were shuttered at need with thick wood, and behind them were stretched white screens that admitted a gentle daylight, which she found out later were made of a strong paper. The inhabitants were fair-haired and tall like the bowmen and nodded courteously to the strangers, although after they had passed many stood and stared after them. Maerad and Cadvan, being both dark-haired, stood out; but of even more interest to the people they passed were the horses, which seemed to be completely unknown in that land.
As they progressed through Rachida they began to gather a curious entourage of small children who followed them in an increasing throng, wide-eyed and laughing, calling to each other and pointing.

  At last they reached a broad hill, covered by a smooth lawn dotted with small blue flowers, and there Imunt and Penar left them and the children dispersed. Farndar told Cadvan the hill was called the Nirimor, the Navel in the Annaren, and at its top was the Nirhel, the hall of their ruler. The horses were told to stay at its base and Cadvan and Maerad followed Farndar up shallow steps cut in the turf to the top of the hill. There stood a large house, made like the others they had seen, but loftier. Its doors were fashioned of silver wood, intricately carved and strangely unweathered, and they stood open to a wide, light corridor. They were led inside and off to the left into a pleasant room in which stood a low table of hard black wood surrounded by broad, richly dyed cushions. The screens were drawn back from the windows, and they could see through the casement to a small grassed courtyard in which blossoming trees hung black branches into a pond. Petals floated on the clear water, and they saw flashes of gold where carp swirled lazily under lilies.

  They were told they could wash if they wished, and were shown another room in which were laid basins of water and fresh towels and clean clothes. Maerad, ravenous after their missed lunch, was relieved when they returned to the first room to find breads and cold meats on the table. The food tasted strange to her tongue, herbed with fennel and horseradish and a strange kind of mint, but it was fresh and delicious.

  "What is this place?" she asked Cadvan as she ate. "I don't think they mean us any harm, at any rate not now."

  "No evil place, at least," Cadvan answered. "Yet it has a strange feeling. It's steeped in some powerful enchantment."

  Yes, it does feel strange, mused Maerad, looking out through the casement to the courtyard. It was as if they had been transported back in time, or even taken out of time itself. All sense of urgency had vanished. She settled back into the cushions, content for the moment to do nothing at all but eat and rest.

  Shortly afterward Farndar came back and took them to a large hall in the center of the house. The ceiling rose high, supported by many beams carved ingeniously into writhen shapes of branches and leaves. The walls were of the same silver wood made to look smooth and jointless, hung with richly colored tapestries woven in the semblance of a woodland. In the center was a shallow pool blooming with white and yellow lilies. A light radiated from the water, illuminating the hall with a soft, golden effulgence like the sun of early spring.

  At the far end was a dais on which was placed a single chair, carved simply out of a polished black wood that Maerad thought at first was stone, and in the chair sat a tall woman. She was robed in white, and her hair fell freely down her shoulders almost to her feet, like a river of silver. Her face seemed at once young and infinitely ancient, as if she were the painted image of a queen who had reigned in ages long past which, by some enchantment, lived; and her glance pierced Maerad with a strange thrill, as if she had stepped into a cold river. She bore no circlet or jewel or staff of authority, yet Maerad knew at once she was a queen of great power.

  Farndar led them before the woman and bowed his head and spoke. She nodded, and then turned to face them.

  "Welcome to the city of Rachida," she said, and her voice was as musical as water. "Few from the outside world have ever gazed on this place and lived."

  To Maerad's relief, she spoke in the tongue of Annar, strangely accented but still understandable. "I have been told your names, and that you are of Annar; and indeed you are fortunate that Cadvan of Lirigon knows the Speech, for otherwise he would surely be dead. But we seek not to kill needlessly; and so you are brought here to know my edict."

  "I will tell you willingly of us, Lady of Rachida," said Cadvan, bowing. "But it seems a lack of courtesy not to know who I am addressing, and who reigns over this enchanted place."

  "You wish to know who I am?" The woman seemed to ripple with amusement, although she did not laugh. "I am called many things. To my people I am the Star of Evening, and the Song of Morning, and the Sap That Feedeth the Tree of Life; and once I was called the Child of the Moon, and the Jewel of Lirion, and many other names. I have wandered beyond the Gates to the Meadows of Shade and returned whole, and so am encumbered with a doom alone of all my kind, and am also called the Alone. What is a name?"

  Maerad, glancing at Cadvan, saw that he was struck speechless with amazement. He bowed low.

  "Lady," he said, when he had recovered his composure. "Do I have the honor, then, of addressing the one known among Bards as the Queen Ardina?"

  She gazed at him, and Cadvan held her glance for a long time before he looked down and aside. "I see you are one of deep lore, and one whom the Speech inhabits, rather than one who learns it tongue-wise," said the Lady. "Such are rare in my realm." She paused. "I did not think my name was still spoken in the wider world."

  "Your beauty is still sung in the Halls of the Bards of Annar and the Seven Kingdoms," said Cadvan. "But the songs do you scant justice. They say also that you passed long ago to the vales of the stars, and dwell there yet; and so I am abashed, meeting here one I thought I would never meet, no matter how far and long I wandered in this world."

  "Long ago I hid from the world, passing from the memory of Annar," said Ardina dreamily. "But I did not leave this world. I may not." A shadow passed over her face, briefly as a bird's wing eclipses the sun. "But come; it is dull to speak of me. I wish to know who you are, and why you are here." She turned to Farndar and addressed him, and he brought them two chairs and a small table with drinks, and then left them with the Queen.

  The Lady questioned Cadvan about his direction, and why he was in the east of the Great Forest. He told her of their journey and of their intention to go to Norloch, but did not mention the reason for it. Ardina seemed satisfied with his answers. She asked for news of the realm of Annar with a distant curiosity, as if they spoke of something that had nothing to do with her, but was quaint, like travelers' tales of distant regions. "I have heard there is a new fear abroad," she said indifferently. "For news comes even here. But this has as little to do with us, as we with it."

  For a long time Maerad sat bored, kicking her ankles against the legs of the chair and wishing she could be dismissed if she was going to be so ignored. At last the Lady turned to her, and said: "Now I wish to speak to Maerad of Pellinor. For I perceive that she is one of my kindred, and I am curious to know from whence she came; for in the Darkness much that I loved was extinguished beyond the hope of the hither realm."

  Maerad looked up, jolted out of her boredom, and met Ardina's eye. She was, Maerad realized, perplexingly like the Elidhu: her face had a similar wildness, although the regard she turned on her was gentle and thoughtful. With a shock, Maerad realized that Ardina's eyes were not human. They were the same as the Elidhu's: within the white was a golden iris with a pupil like a cat's eye. Again she felt as if she were plunged into cold water, and a strange shiver went all the way down her spine.

  "I am the daughter of Milana of the First Circle of Pellinor," she said, with a kind of defiant pride. "How could we be kin?"

  "By the strangest of chance, if chance you call it," said Ardina softly. "Often what you humans call chance is instead the workings of a deeper pattern, which the casual eye cannot easily perceive. In the past I have seen you with my inner dreaming, which does not lie. But in such dreaming it is often hard to know what is seen: whether it is the future, or the past, or something that only may be. In you I know my own blood. But there is more...."

  Maerad felt goose bumps rising on her skin, and the grip of a strange dread. What did she mean? She couldn't meet the Queen's strange gaze, and she stared down at her feet, deeply unsettled.

  There was a pause and then Ardina stood up, as if thinking better of what she was about to say. "I tire you, importuning you with my questions," she said. "Go then in peace, and rest, and savor the delights of my
realm; and when you are rested, we will meet again and talk further. And then you shall know my mind."

  Cadvan and Maerad both stood and bowed their heads. It seemed a golden light increased around Ardina, growing brighter and brighter until they were forced to blink; and in that moment the Queen vanished, and the chair stood empty before them, and the beautiful room was suddenly desolate with her absence.

  Wordlessly they left the hall. Farndar was waiting for them by the door, and he took them to a house not far from the Nirimor, which he said was theirs to use as they liked, and he left them there. The house was arranged around a central courtyard and surrounded by a wide porch, furnished in the same style as the Nirhel. The floors were polished wood, well covered against the cold with rich rugs, and little braziers of iron warmed each room. A meal and wine were set out on a low table in the main room. There was a walled lawn where Farndar said the horses might stay, for they had no stables. Afterward the horses walked freely through the streets of Rachida, where they were given sweets and carrots by the children, and caused much wonder.

  By now it was twilight. Both Cadvan and Maerad felt strangely exhausted after their interview with the Lady Ardina, as if they had sat long in talk and been questioned deeply, although in truth their interview had lasted less than an hour.

  "This is the strangest of many strange things that have happened to me," said Cadvan as he poured them some wine. "The Lady Ardina! Now legends come to life and walk the earth!"

  "Who is she?" asked Maerad. Cadvan said nothing at first, seeming lost in thought; and then he pulled his lyre out of his pack, and began, almost randomly, to strike a few chords. After a while they modulated into a melody, and his voice rose in song:

  "When Arkan deemed an endless cold

  And greenwoods rotted bleak and sere,